


The Stomach For It

by Hot Jones Investments (Finlaena)



Category: Warframe
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Gen, Male Solo, Sexual Dysfunction, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29655540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finlaena/pseuds/Hot%20Jones%20Investments
Summary: With recent developments in the Corpus hierarchy, Frohd Bek attempts to relax... in an unconventional way.
Kudos: 4





	The Stomach For It

**Author's Note:**

> I have no earthly idea why I fixed this up and am reposting it again, except because, uhhh.... I hate myself that much? *Mr. Krabs laugh*

Home. 

_Finally_. 

Despite being one of the most influential and wealthy of the Corpus, Frohd Bek lived in remarkably utilitarian surroundings. Sure, he did indulge in the occasional frivolity and enjoyed flaunting his wealth if it meant wooing potential investors, but outside of business, he kept a tight grip on his pursestrings and opted to be practical; both in personal attire and living space. 

Locking the front door behind him, a kubrow bounded towards him, holding a ratty, torn chew toy (modeled after a Grineer, of course) in its maw. Placing it down at his feet, the kubrow sat at full attention, gazing longingly at her master. 

“Good girl. Good, good girl,” Frohd cooed, scratching her behind the ears. “Ah, Argent, you were certainly worth the wait.”

Argent let out a bark of gratitude, before trotting off towards her bed. 

Following the kubrow into the den, Frohd stood before the balcony window. It afforded him a breathtaking view of part of the Corposium skyline, which did help ease his nerves -and temper- for only a little bit. He tried to banish the thoughts of the lingering threat of their founder, Parvos Granum, taking away everything that he had worked so hard to obtain. Twinkling lights and a faint teal haze could only soften so much, but it would do. 

Frohd rapt his fingers against the trim, taking in slow, focused breaths; ones that faintly reverberated in his artificial larynx. His eyes turned to the silver kubrow, who was now curled up in a big, furry ball; sound asleep. Sleep, at this point, was a favorable idea. 

That is, until his stomach audibly rumbled, reminding him that he had not yet had dinner that evening. 

* * *

Nourished and full, Frohd emerged from the hallway into his private quarters, patting his belly. He contemplated what he wanted to do next. He wasn’t quite tired yet, but he wasn’t exactly wired, either. 

Looking down towards his feet, he noticed that he had… _added_ a couple inches to his waistline since the last time he cared to notice (which would explain why he felt rather snug in his suit as of late). It had to have come from stress eating, he presumed. It was something he had been doing in secret since Parvos’ return from the Void: extra portions at lunch, various snacks on and off throughout the day, and carbonated drinks to help keep his mind off of current events.

It wasn’t until now that the results of it had caught his eye. 

The strange part? He didn’t seem to mind it. 

In fact, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he found it incredibly _arousing_. 

The way it bulged out, even when confined by his suit and how if he kept this up any further, it would begin testing how far it could stretch. How the dark orange, half-circle tattoos perfectly framed the sides. Firm, yet soft at the same time. Even under cloth, how it made him tingle as his hands brushed across its surface. Especially when he’d give it a lazy scratch.

Frohd began to feel something stirring in him. He knew full well what that ‘something’ was: whenever the mood struck him, he would either go rub a quick one out in the bathroom adjacent to his office (though that was a challenge in of itself for… _reasons_.), or when he was younger and virile, have a lay with a prostitute or two at one of the Neptunian brothels. (Which was a rarity these days, again… _reasons_.)

Resting each hand on the sides of his protruding abdomen and gazing down at it, Frohd decided it was long past time for him to indulge in some personal gratification. Argent was fast asleep in her bed and his phone was set to silent and resting on the counter. If he were to… indulge in his eccentric desire, there wouldn’t be a better time than now.

A subdued gurgling only confirmed his decision.

* * *

Frohd’s worn, calloused hands caressed soft skin. The right index finger swirled around his navel, occasionally slipping in for a quick tickle. Frohd bit down on his lower lip, murmuring to himself nothing in particular. When he was younger and lithe, he never gave this much thought. It was only when he was older did he realize he enjoyed touching himself there. 

A low moan rumbled in his throat, accentuated by the replacement larynx. Profit, this was going to be _good_.

Taking in a quick, yet robust breath, Frohd dragged his index finger from under his navel to above his groin. He poked and prodded at his belly, occasionally evoking a few noises inside him. Oh, sweet Profit, the low yet robust rumbling of fullness was embarrassingly hot. 

The steadily rising warmth inside him probably helped, too, even if his equipment wasn’t stiffening as it should. 

But that’s not what he wanted, not really.

Frohd didn’t care in the slightest if he didn’t cum (he did have… _issues_ getting it up, especially in recent years), all he wanted from this was to simply be and to enjoy his fuller figure and the additional sensations it gifted him with. 

A shiver ran down his spine. Frohd bit his lower lip harder, as he continued to fondle the patch of skin below his navel, occasionally swiping up to tweak a nipple or massage his breast. He writhed and wriggled; toes curling and his breathing becoming shallow in brief intervals. Profit, with how much he was enjoying this, he would touch himself like this all night if he could.

(At least there wouldn’t be much of a mess. One of the unexpected benefits of his condition, he reasoned.)

* * *

At some untold point in the night, Argent awoke from her deep slumber. 

Alert and unsure, her head darted in several directions. Upon hearing a rather loud, robust sound coming from her master’s quarters, she bounded towards the bedroom door, barking incessantly.

“ _Argent!! Quiet!!_ ” 

She recognized the scratchy voice as that of Frohd’s, and returned back to her bed as if nothing happened at all. 

Inside the bedroom, Frohd draped an arm over his head, letting out an agitated groan. 

“And this is why I work out of the office,” he grumbled.


End file.
